


Lord Winter and Lady Summer

by mister_otter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Dreams and Nightmares, Dreams vs. Reality, F/M, Happy Ending, Humor, Romance, Sexual Humor, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 11:32:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5162336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mister_otter/pseuds/mister_otter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco is alone on Christmas Eve, with a single gift-wrapped package to open. But in this case, one may be all he can stand…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lord Winter and Lady Summer

__

I will come when the wind is high she said  
I will come when the moon is bright  
I will come in the dark of Christmas Eve  
When the beasts kneel in the night  
My faery troop I’ll bring to you  
My magic songs and raiment  
And should I save your ancient house  
Your heart shall be my payment  
From The Ballad of Lord Winter and Lady Summer*

The wrapping paper was jolly and festive, scrawled all over with holiday phrases like ‘love & joy,' ‘celebrate together,’ and ‘merry, merry, _merry._ ’

“Why?” Draco Malfoy asked his empty room. “Can no one make wrapping paper that says ‘Bah, humbug,’ and ‘I heart December 26th?’”

The box he held was his Christmas gift from Blaise and Luna Zabini, intended, no doubt, to cheer him up after his second nasty divorce— if anything could still be categorized as ‘nasty’ following the disaster that had been his first.

He was thirty years old, successful in business but a failure in love. And he was done with it, too. So sorry, Mother and Father, but there will be no heirs to continue the Malfoy line for you. Not risking it a third time. 

Draco was the only child of an only child of an only child. When he died, he’d already decided to leave the Manor as a huge shrine where he’d be entombed all alone. His fortune would go to fund a giant Winter Carnival to be held on the parkland each December. Its main event would be an ice-sculpting contest featuring likenesses of Draco as heroic figures from history and myth— Alexander the Great, Napoleon, Loki, Elvis. 

Tomorrow he’d join his parents in Paris to celebrate Christmas Day. He wouldn’t tell them of the plans he was making about his non-future, but as of tonight his mind was made up.

Love sucked. He was done and done.

The one bright spot in his Christmas Eve seemed to be Blaise’s colorfully decorated gift.

Next to the words ‘sparkle & shine,’ a nameplate at the center of the wrapping paper shouted _Open me, Draco!_ in big, gold letters. 

Obediently, he removed the lid. The box held a bottle of wine whose label read _Joie de Deux Saisons, 1966._

Draco’s face lit with a grin. “At least I know how I’ll be spending my evening. Cheers, Zabini!” 

But his smile quickly faded to a scowl as he read the card attached to the bottle. It said:

_Joie de Deux Saisons combines the joyful spirit of the winter holidays with the bright dreams of summer to come. It is a rare, enchanted vintage meant to be shared among friends._

_The recipient must drink only ONE glass and then present the bottle to the person whose name will magically appear next, on the charmed wrapping paper gift tag. (Note: Failure to share could result in misfortune because Sharing is Caring and Caring is Love!)_

Blaise would never have thought of such a soppily emotional gift, Draco decided. Joy and good will and all that spirit-of-the-season shite. It had to be Lovegood’s doing. 

He uncorked the bottle. Just one glass? Right— that was as likely to happen as Mrs. Claus giving Santa hand-knitted ball warmers. This gift was Draco's ticket to forgetting _everything,_ if just for a few hours. 

He hefted the bottle and started chugging.

_Joie de Deux Saisons._ Vintage 1966. Draco had never had a wine like it. Such clarity, depth, bouquet— like a crisp winter day turning slowly into summer, bringing visions of mown hay, blue skies, and frolicking lambs. 

Soon the bottle lay almost empty on the floor and Draco staggered to his bed, dodging the lambs he could have sworn were still leaping about.

“Get out of my room!” he growled. “Before I turn you all into sheepskin broom covers.”

The lamb standing in the middle of his bed baa-ed at him saucily and released a lamb-style fart. 

Draco swatted it away and fell onto his goose down mattress. He sank immediately into a deep sleep, only to wake a short time later. The wind had blown open the French doors to his balcony; the moon peered in, bright and curious. 

There was a woman standing by his bed.

She reminded him of someone that he knew, but he couldn’t quite grasp who— possibly because he was still very drunk. Or maybe because she had green hair. Her gown was white, billowy as a cloud, with a tight bodice covered in ivy, holly, and silver leaves. On her head she wore a crown of icicles and snow drops in the shape of swept-back wings.

Draco’s heart pounded as he rubbed his eyes to see more clearly. He let out a string of not-very-jolly swears followed by, “Who the hell are you?”

The strange woman made a graceful curtsey. “I am Lady Summer, Queen of the Faerie Troop, come to bring light, warmth, and merriment to the bleak winter landscape that passes for your soul.”

“If you are Summer, then why are you dressed like a Christmas ornament?”

“To honor the spirit of the winter season, of course.” She inclined her head. “And in that same spirit, to offer you holiday greetings. If I may be so bold.”

Bleary-eyed, Draco stared at her. “Are you a nightmare?” he asked.

She hoisted her skirt and propped one silver-heeled stiletto on his bed. “If I am your idea of a nightmare, then clearly you have sexual dysfunction. No wonder your marriages failed.”

“My marriages failed because my wives were bitches,” he replied indignantly.

“If by _bitches_ you mean _strong-willed women_ , then I surmise you are correct. Only bitches could survive a marriage to you.”

“Would you stop speaking in ‘ifs’ and tell me what it is you want? I’m drunk and I’d like to sleep it off.”

“ _If_ you will be civil and actually listen.”

Draco nodded wearily. “Go on, then.”

“In the faerie realm, we have a saying: “The third time is the charm.”

“We say that all the time in the mortal realm.”

“Of course you do— because faeries whispered it to mortals in midnight dreams until it became a cliché. Don’t interrupt.” She waved one hand airily about. “I have a lady in mind for you. She’s perfect— quite _strong-willed_ of course, but in a good way.” 

Draco saw that Lady Summer was holding the gift-wrapped box he’d received from Blaise. She snapped her fingers and a new name appeared on the gift tag— Hermione Granger.

“No. Oh, no, no, no.”

“But yes. I want you to give the _Joie de Deux Saisons_ to her. And then you must ask her out. She’s pretty. Clever. Also, smarter and wiser than you.”

“Hey!” Draco struggled to rise.

“She chose the winning side, can you argue with that?” Lady Summer shoved him back down. “But best of all, you’ve been wanking off to visions of her for years now.” 

Draco lay perfectly still. “How in bloody blazes did you know?”

“Faeries are far more magical than wizards. We know everything. Your deepest thoughts, your most secret desires. She was never an ordinary fantasy, was she?” Lady Summer leaned over the bed, her breath warm as June against his ear. “She’s been the one you thought of when you wanted something extra special. Like a powerful potion in your veins.”

Draco sat up so suddenly his head spun. “You need to leave. Now.”

She stood, crossing her arms so that her cleavage popped. “Faeries leave when faeries want to leave, and not one millisecond before. Will you consider giving the wine to this woman? Or at least, what’s left of it?”

“No. I will not.”

“Then I must serenade you.” 

She seated herself on a chair, hiking her voluminous skirt to thigh level so that her shimmery stockings showed. They were tied high up with green ribbons, Elizabethan style.

With a shuffling sound from the hallway a troop of miniature faeries filed in, all carrying musical instruments. They looked suspiciously like Draco’s house elves, but he held his tongue in order to keep Lady Summer quiet and also because he was intrigued by her shapely legs and hit by a sudden longing to untie the green ribbons with his teeth.

One of the elves handed their queen a lute. Strumming it lightly, she began to sing. 

Draco would have imagined her to have a high, pure voice that sounded like bells. Instead, the song was off-key and a bit discordant, as was the music from the band. It seemed to be to the tune of _Greensleeves,_ but the lyrics were all about the mating of Lady Summer and Lord Winter. 

There were so many verses. So many. All ribald, all Elizabethan. 

The couple in question did it again and again, in many locales and every position imaginable. Apparently they were quite insatiable. In a pond. Hanging from a tree. On the roof of a village church. Atop the royal banqueting table while the king and queen lay abed with lovers of their own.

Draco’s ears began to hurt. Just when he thought he couldn’t stand it any longer, the tune wound down, with the result of all the mating being the production of Autumn and Spring.

“If I say yes to your demands, will you go away?” he begged.

She nodded. “But there will be consequences, if you don’t do as I’ve suggested.”

 

He held up one hand. “I know, I know. Faeries are all knowing, all seeing, all infuriating. And you’ll cast some kind of spell that shrivels my balls…”

“What I meant is a third bad marriage and further loss of your fortune in divorce payments. Because you know that sooner or later, you will give in to your mother’s piteous pleas for a grandchild. Faeries can also be all practical.”

“I’ve never heard that one.”

“Then you have much to learn about the faerie realm. It is time to say goodnight, Draco Malfoy. Lie down.” She sank onto the bed, her skirts billowing around them like a cloud, pressing him into the bed as she leaned over him. In her hand were aromatic leaves that she crushed and sprinkled over his eyelids. 

“Give my words careful consideration,” she whispered. “And sleep, sleep. May all your dreams be pleasant. And may some of them be wet.”

On Christmas morning, Draco woke surprisingly refreshed. He remembered a vague dream about a maddening yet extremely hot faerie who’d reminded him a bit of Hermione Granger, followed by a much more potent dream involving Granger herself. When he stood before the mirror to brush his teeth, he saw tiny slivers of green leaves dotting his upper face and eyelids. 

Two hours later, he appeared at the older Grangers’ front door, the gift-wrapped box containing the last of the _Joie de Deux Saisons_ tucked under his arm. 

Hermione’s name sparkled in bright gold letters across the charmed wrapping paper.

*

They were married the following Christmas Eve, at a midnight ceremony in a snow-covered holly grove. The wind whipped Hermione’s hair into magnificent waves and tugged at her billowy white gown, while the moon shone down in silvery, beaming approval of Draco’s choice.

Their union produced two children, Scorpius and his sister Spica, named for a summer constellation and a bright spring star. 

The marriage succeeded in part because the couple was insatiable, never able to get enough of each other even after many years together. Though they never did it atop a table in a royal banqueting hall, they did sneak in a session on one of the long tables in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, late one night following a class reunion. 

The ancient house of Malfoy continued, unabated. Each year, Draco and Hermione held a Winter Solstice carnival on the Manor parklands, complete with an ice-sculpting contest. 

And each year, they gave a wrapping paper-covered bottle of _Joie de Deux Saisons,_ Blaise and Luna Zabini’s enchanted, potion-laced wine, to someone in need of a little spirit for the holiday season.

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Holiday joy to my fabulous beta and wonderful friend, eilonwy! Cheers and a glass of Joie de Deux Saisons to make your December merry and bright!!  
> *Note: The poem at the start of this story comes from the book _The Slanted Worlds_ by Catherine Fisher, second volume in the Obsidian Mirror series. My prompt was 'wrapping paper.' While not prominent in the story, it did have an important role to play. :)


End file.
